Quantum Foam makes me Roam
by Aphid24
Summary: Greg experiences something quite different from his usual lab work. I suck at summaries...
1. Chapter 1

I don't own CSI, the actors, nor anything associated with CSI…I'm not in any way being paid for this story…blah blah blah…don't sue me…

I wrote this at 2-3 in the morning, so bear with it…

**Quantum Foam makes me Roam**

Greg Sanders sat up, the microscope base making an indent in his forehead. The sample of the fluid found at Warrick's crime scene was still printing, so he had to have been asleep for only a few minutes. He groaned and rubbed his eyes, opening them widely in the attempt to wake up more fully.

"_Ah-HEM,"_ Harrumphed a voice from behind him. He spun in his stool, eyes wide as he encountered the least desired person in the world to see at that moment. "Grissom," he said with a gulp.

Grissom's throat worked as he fought to keep the amusement out of his voice. At any other time, he might be angry, but the lab rat had been working for twenty-one straight hours on three different cases, and the supervisor was more pleased to see Greg was taking a well-deserved nap instead of trying to tackle an enormous amount of evidence. Still, he was the boss, and had to maintain his composure even in the face of the hapless lab rat's obvious discomfort.

"Greg," he said sharply. "Why is there an indent of some sort on your forehead?"

Greg gulped again. "I...I kind of fell asleep," he admitted.

Honesty was a virtue Grissom looked for in people. He tacked on a point to his mental scoreboard of people.

"Go home," said Grissom briefly.

If anything, he would have expected Greg to be relieved at being dismissed, but Greg looked more like a kicked puppy. He realized that his dismissal seemed more like a direct demand to go home, like he wasn't needed. He added tactfully, "Go home and sleep. You've been working nearly a whole day. Hodges can finish the Felderman case."

"Ok, boss," said Greg uneasily. He eased off his stool and walked past Grissom, then turned with a huge smile on his face. "Thanks," he said earnestly.

Grissom ushered him out with a wave of his hand.

Eric Szmanda was tired, bored, hungry, and grumpy from running lines all day.

"Sara, this DNA matches...look, Tracy, this is the eighteenth take," he said, pleadingly. "Are we done yet?"

"Nooooooo..." whined his seven-year-old niece. She was the sweetest thing in the world, but when it came to scripted plays in the vicinity of her backyard, she was the spawn of Satan himself. "I'm Sara and you're Greg. Now say it, Uncle Eric, please?"

Eric sighed. "Ok, ok...I--where were we?"

"You're just about to take me on a tour of the lab," she explained. She was only seven, yet had the intelligence of a high school student and a thirst for knowledge. Every time Eric got new lines in the mail, she would make him perform with her so she could learn everything there was to know about CSI and its technology. She got adequate knowledge from the lines her uncle provided, but Eric knew it was only a matter of time before she decided that wasn't enough.

"Right," said Eric. He cleared his throat, something he did to get into character. Tracy thought maybe Greg Sanders had an undiagnosed bronchial infection. She giggled.

"What?" asked Eric.

She shook her head.

Eric shrugged. "Hey, Sara, you wanna tour the lab with me? I know you know all of the machines and stuff, but there's some new things in my lab I think you'd like to see."

Tracy, AKA 'Sara,' smiled. "Ok, Greg, but I only have a few minutes."

"Felderman case?"

"Yeah. We've got a lead."

"Lemme guess: the jilted ex-husband wanted the insurance money, and now that he's been pinned, he's called a lawyer. Now you need more evidence to keep him in custody."

Tracy let an expression of comical surprise slip onto her face. "How'd you know that?"

Eric, 'Greg,' shrugged. "I kinda overheard Grissom talking to Brass. But I guessed about the motive."

They'd been walking the whole time. Now they stopped just short of the garden, with it's tulips in bloom and a few late dandelions sticking around to visit their later cousins.

Eric let his eyes move over a heather bush, as if it were a new gadget of wonderful CSI technology. He took another step, and with an introductory sweep of his arm, said, "Ah, here we are. Sara, say hello to Bernie, the advanced scenario software creator. It's got a whole bunch of new scenario information, stuff we didn't need when the old '99 software came out, like temperature factors for fires and dead bodies. No one except Hodges and Archie and I know how to use it yet. Here, let me show--oof!"

The "oof" was not in the script, and neither was the tripping of the character, nor the falling of Eric/Greg and his head connecting with a large rock. Nor was the darkness that quickly swallowed up Eric's consciousness.

"Sara, I want to thank you again for--"

She interrupted him with a hand. "That's the third time you've thanked me, and for the last time, I'll say that it's no big deal, you only live a few blocks away from my house."

Greg smiled shyly and shrugged. "I know, but it was nice of you to take a detour and--"

"Greg, if you don't shut up about the whole ride thing, I swear I'll charge you money."

He looked disappointed. "Money, huh? No other forms of payment I can offer?"

Sara shoved him into his passenger window with a smirk. "I'd offer you to be my slave, but you'd think of something kinky to say."

Greg smiled. "Yup," he said proudly. "Got a few ideas already."

Sara sighed and muttered what sounded a whole lot like "men..." under her breath. She was still shaking her head when an old man wandered into the middle of the street, causing Sara to jam her foot into her brake pedal. Greg's head was thrown forward unexpectedly, and he was connected with the windshield in a rather painful fashion. He blacked out and didn't feel the car fishtail and finally skid to a stop three feet from the man.

Sara gasped and sagged over her steering wheel, taking several deep breaths. She glanced over at Greg, who was slumped over in his seat, eyes closed.

"Greg," she said, shaking his shoulder. "Greg. Greg! Wake up, Greggo, wake up!"

Eric woke up to a beautiful woman telling him to do so. As he gazed into her face, he realized he was dreaming, as the owner of the face was none other than Jorja Fox, who was currently in Denmark on vacation. "Greg," she said in a concerned voice. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," he muttered thickly.

"You've been out for three minutes. I'm taking you to the hospital. You might have a concussion."

Eric sat up. "No, I'm fine," he insisted. "No need." He rubbed his forehead and winced. "Hey, Jorja, what are you doing here?"

"Jorja?" demanded Sara, her eyes narrow. She faced the front again and said, "That's it, you're going to the hospital."

"I told you, I'm ok. Why aren't you in Denmark?"

She stopped the car, which Eric now noticed had been moving. She braked short of a stop sign, and looked at him with concern. "Denmark? Why would I be in Denmark?"

Eric rubbed his head again. "Did you call me Greg earlier?" he asked, avoiding the question. He couldn't even remember how he'd bumped his head or what he'd been doing.

"Yeah, because I frequently call people by their given name, and Gregory doesn't seem to cut it, so I shortened it. That ok with you?" She was getting sarcastic, an unpleasant side effect to worry and stress for her.

"You can call me Greg if you want," he fired back. "I'll just call you Sara then. Sara Sidle, from _CSI: Crime Scene Investigation_. That ok with you, Sara Sidle?"

Sara was relieved he knew her name, but beginning to get very confused with the way the conversation was going.

"That out of the way, I'll call Will 'Grissom,' and maybe Marg, I'll call her 'Catherine,' and George? Well, we'll call him 'Nick.' We'll even go so far as to pretend he's really a ballistics expert at a crime lab in Las Vegas."

Sara turned to look at him quizzically. "You know what?" she said. "We aren't going to the hospital. Oh no, you need more help than that. We're going to the Crime Lab." She cranked the wheel in a sharp U-turn and headed back east.

Greg woke up gradually, aware that his head was encased in soft pillows. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into the eyes of someone he recognized well, his buddy Nick Stokes.

"Hey, Nick," he said groggily. "How long have I been out? What happened to Sara? Is she ok?" He sat up suddenly, looking for Sara.

George Eads--AKA Nick--pushed him back down and said, "Woah, easy there, buddy. Back up. Did you call me Nick?"

Greg looked confused. "Yeah. What, you changed it? How long have I been out?" he joked.

"Three minutes," said George. "Why'd you call me Nick?"

"That would be because it's your name..." said Greg, like he was talking to a kindergartner.

"My name is George," said George, just as condescendingly. "And Nick is a _character_ I play on a _TV show._"

"Ohhh, alter ego," said Greg, not knowing what else to say in light of such an odd statement. He sank back into the pillows.

George looked into his eyes. "You really think I'm Nick, don't you?" He sensed that his friend of ten years was telling the truth, and maybe was not even his friend as he knew him anymore.

"And Jorja is Sara...and..."

"Sara? Where is she?" asked Greg, perking up.

"Listen, buddy, I don't know what happened, but I'm gonna clear some things up before we both get too confused to function. My name is George Eads, I play a character on _CSI: Crime Scene Investigation_, and the people you know at the lab? Catherine's real name is Marg Helgenberg, Warrick is Gary Dourdan, Grissom is Will Peterson, and Sara is Jorja Fox. Your _real_ name is Eric Szmanda, aged 32, and you live with your brother and his kid right now. I was coming to hang out with you today, we were gonna go to a 3 Doors Down concert, and you blacked out hanging out with your niece."

Greg shook his head wordlessly through the speech, mentally disagreeing with everything George was saying. "No..." he said. "My name is Gregory Hojam Sanders, I live in Las Vegas, 5948 Cinque street, I work at a Crime Lab, and I have a crush on Sara, who is _not_ Jorja Fox or goes by any other name than Sara Sidle! I don't have a brother, who does not have a daughter by any stretch of imagination!" He seemed agitated, and fiddled with the sheets on his bed.

Suddenly the door burst open and Tracy fell on Greg, crying and sobbing. "Are you ok, Uncle Eric?" she whimpered. She had the intellect of a high school student, yet retained the emotional capability of one her age. "I thought you were dead! You just looked so...still...I thought you were dead, I thought you were dead, I thought you were dead..." she hugged Greg around the neck so tight he almost choked. He reached up and patted her back awkwardly. "I'm ok...kiddo..." He sent a questioning expression at George, who mouthed back, _Tracy_. "I'm ok, Tracy, I'm ok..."

"Where's your father?" asked George. "Is he still at the mall?"

"Yeah," she sniffled. She let go of Greg, who took a welcome gasp of air and massaged his neck.

Tracy made herself comfortable at the edge of Eric's bed, which was now occupied by his look-alike character, Greg, although no one in the world knew that at that moment other than Greg and George.

"Will?" asked Eric. "What are you doing here?"

Sara shot a meaningful glance at Grissom. "See?" she said. "He keeps calling us by different names. I'm Jorja, Warrick is Gary, and Catherine is Marg..."

Grissom shook his head as if to clear it. He shined a flashlight he'd produced out of nowhere into Eric's eyes, and said, "No sign of any head injuries, though I'd still check him into a hospital in case he has a concussion."

"I don't have a concussion, _Will_, and I'd appreciate you telling me why you guys all insist on pretending to be your characters. And where did you get this lab? Are you renting it for a new scene? I've never seen it before..."

"Scene?" asked Grissom curiously. "As in a movie scene or TV scene?"

"TV scene!" said Eric exasperatedly. "As is _CSI: Crime Scene Investigation_, not _Miami_ or _New York,_ those spin-offs. As in the original, Las Vegas _Crime Scene Investigation_, starring Will Peterson, Jorja Fox, George Eads, Gary Dourdan, Marg Helgenberg and _moi_, Eric Szmanda!"

"Alright, calm down, Gr--Eric," said Grissom patiently.

Eric could see they would not believe him, although he knew now what was happening. He'd read about this a few places, these split-dimension things, and realized this was the only plausible explanation.

"Look, I can prove it," he said. "Grissom, you lost your hearing for a while, and got it back with an operation."

"Everybody knows that," said Sara, unimpressed.

"Nick's father calls him Pancho!"

Sara and Grissom looked at each other, surprised. "_We_ don't know that," said Grissom.

That episode must not have happened yet.

He looked at Sara for some kind of inspiration, and saw the newly healed scar on her temple. Must be right after _Inside the Box._

"And...and...Jo--Sara, right before the lab got blown up, you were rejected by Wi--Grissom."

Sara flinched and Grissom's stoic gaze flickered.

Eric continued triumphantly. "You called her honey, when Sara was sitting on the curb, all cut up. Catherine was the one who left the hotplate on, but everyone thought it was Hodge's fault at first." Now for the icing. "Sara, I don't remember which episode it was, but you invited Grissom out to dinner, and he turned you down. You said by the time he figures it out, it'd be too late."

Sara and Grissom gave each other the same look: astonishment. Both of them came to the same conclusion at the same time, and Sara reached out her hand. "Eric, nice to meet you. I'm Sara, of the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

Eric shook her hand. "Eric Szmanda, of the popular TV hit _CSI._ Nice to meet you."

Greg sat up in bed, talking to George. Tracy had left by her own will, claiming homework, but Greg suspected she was upset by the whole ordeal of 'Eric' being injured and a little...out of it.

"So...I'm a character? That's all? Just some script played by an up-and-coming actor?"

George flinched. "Well, yeah...but obviously not anymore..." He shook his head in disbelief.

"If I'm here, then where's Eric?"

"Maybe where you _were_. Where were you?"

"I was in a car with Sara, she was giving me a ride home, and there was this guy, she braked, and I think I hit my head."

George looked thoughtful. "Maybe that's what did it. Seems you both hit your heads at the same time..."

Greg looked at him doubtfully.

"What episode are you on?" asked George, changing the subject.

"Episo...I have no idea. The lab exploded about a week ago..."

"Has Grissom confronted you about your shaking hands yet?"

"Yeah, a few days ago..."

"Must be after _Inside the Box_...hey, wanna see an episode? _CSI'_s on right now...I don't know what episode it is, but if it's after _Inside the Box_, I'll turn it off, ok?"

"Ok."

George grabbed the remote and turned to Spike TV. On screen was Greg, busy at the fume hood. He had a quizzical expression on his face, and when he turned slightly to investigate something in the background, the hood exploded.

The real-life Greg gasped as he watched his body sail through the glass. He watched Sara, walking down the hallway nearby, suddenly fall as if a giant hand pushed her down. He watched himself, cleverly portrayed dramatically for full television effect, lay out on the floor. He watched as he--on TV--tried to raise his head, but then fell back amid the broken glass, while Sara watched in stunned disbelief.

Cut to commercial.

Greg--real life--swallowed, still staring at the TV screen, his eyes huge and scared. George snapped the TV off and looked at Greg, his expression pitying. "I'm sorry you had to see that," said George quietly.

Greg turned to look at him, his eyes glistening. "People don't understand," he whispered. "What it was like...it was horrible...I thought I was going to die, and there was pain, so much pain, and seeing Sara there too, it..." he ran out of words, and took a sip of water conveniently placed on the nightstand. "Every day now, I'm so aware how short life is, how it can be taken away...I knew it before, but now...it happened at my safe place, my sanctuary, the only place in the world I felt secure, and it could happen again...and I'd know what it's like, only next time, I might not wake up."

George's eyes were sympathetic, and he looked away politely when Greg swiped furiously at his eyes.

"George?" Greg asked.

"Yeah?"

"Can you turn it back on? I want to see what happened. I'll be ok now."

George obliged, and there was another commercial before the show was back on. Greg was shown on a stretcher being carried out of the building, then put in an ambulance. He watched with horror as the camera showed Sara, timid and scared, sitting alone on the curb. "How come no one's going to her?" asked Greg.

George shrugged. He didn't want to say, "For dramatic effect," because it was no longer a TV show. It was real life for someone, and he couldn't ignore that.

On screen, Grissom walked to Sara, asked if she was alright. When he called her honey, Greg grinned widely and pointed at the TV set. "Honey," he chuckled. "He called her honey. I knew it. There's something there."

They watched the rest of the episode in silence, George, remembering that Eric's brother had TiVo, fast-forwarded through the remainder of the commercials.

"That's my life," said Greg. "And all it is, is a TV show…they didn't know, did they? The writers and all, they thought it was…a show, and only a show, but it's my _life_, and I…I can't take this, this is too overwhelming…" He shook his head, thoughts becoming more jumbled as he thought about the situation, and decided to not think.

"I understand," said George, nodding. "Well, I don't _understand,_ but I understand how overwhelming this must be…ok, I'm not quite sure how _that_ is either, but…"

Greg put a hand on his arm. "Don't hurt yourself," he joked.

I know, crappy place to end, but I'm fresh outta ideas…I'll write more if you guys review…and sorry if I misspelled any of the characters' names, I wrote this on MY computer, which doesn't have internet, and couldn't access the 'net until I put this on the other computer, the one with internet, but then I didn't feel like looking up the names to correct…yeah, anyway, please review! Flames, compliments, obituaries, anything…just comment.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N _Yeah, I didn't really like how the last chapter went; too confusing, even for me. I just re-read it and I was like, "what?" I'm going to change the scenario in this one so there'll only be one world, with all of them in it, except Eric, but we'll get to him later. _

_What happened was: Greg and Eric switched places, Greg is now in Eric's world (our world), and Eric is in the TV show, which isn't a TV show anymore because it's real...capiche? _

_I wanna give a huge thank you to all the people who reviewed and complimented me, it only serves to inflate my author's ego, so thank you thank you thank you. And, as another note, I really don't mind flames: to me, they are more constructive, showing what to improve upon, which is really the important part. So complimenters and flamers alike, unite and review! Oh, and congrads to anon for catching my Michael Critchton reference. It doesn't have too much to do with this fic, but I was short a title, so there we go. _

When Catherine, Warrick, Sara, Grissom, Nick and Brass woke up, they found themselves at the least expected and desirable place: with each other. Catherine was draped over Brass's legs, Sara was lying on Grissom's stomach, who had his arm under Warrick's back. Nick was over in a corner, curled up in a ball and snoring uproariously. They all woke up at almost the same instant, save for Nick, immediately recoiling with a chorus of "ew"s and "what the..."s.

"Where are we?" demanded Catherine, glaring at her surroundings like it was their fault. The surroundings in question were a couch, a coffee table with a half-pot full of coffee in it, and a magazine stand. Behind the couch was a large television set, maybe a movie set, full of cameras and lights and sound booms.

Nick woke with a particularly loud snort. "What...hmm?" he asked groggily. "Where am I?"

"Good question, Nicky," said Warrick, gazing at the surrounding set.

Brass unholstered his gun; Nick and Warrick also did the same, respectively.

"Does anyone remember anything?" asked Grissom.

"Greg's look-a-like, Eric," responded Sara, trying to get her thoughts together. "Then, we all went home, and he stayed at my house, and the last thing I remember was falling asleep. Am I dreaming?"

"Maybe," said Brass, still observing the scene. He stood up and began to wander around.

"Same here, only Eric wasn't at my house. All I remember is falling asleep," said Catherine. The rest of the group murmured in agreement.

"So well all fall asleep and wake up in...at...where ever the hell this is?" demanded Catherine.

Again, a murmured agreement.

"Hey, guys," said Brass from somewhere to the right. "Come and look at this."

They all went to see where he was, and were greeted with the sight of seven chairs lined up, each reading a different name. There was a Jorja, a Gary, a George, a Eric, a Will, a Paul, and a Marg chair.

Grissom studied the chairs with his pursed lips. "Aren't those the names of the people that Eric said played us?" he wondered.

Sara's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah, that's right. My actresses name is Jorja."

They were interrupted from further reasoning when they heard two distinctly male voices echoing from somewhere nearby.

"This is the lab set," explained a man in a Texan accent. "This is where Eric spends most of his scenes, with all his amusing anecdotes and comebacks. 'Strip forensics?' A classic. And what possessed you to dance around in a headdress, man?"

Catherine stared at Nick, her eyes wide. _That's you,_ she mouthed.

"What can I say?" said a familiar voice. "I can't help but be charming, witty, and intelligent."

"You brag about yourself way more than on TV."

"Deleted scenes?" wondered Greg, for that's who the voice obviously belonged to.

"That must be the real Greg," whispered Grissom to the group.

"So, what's in this room?" asked Greg.

"That would be the breakroom. That's where we actually relax when we aren't filming. I can't tell you how many times the cast has fallen asleep on this couch--" George paused in midsentence, soaking up the bizarre sight of the six in front of him, all wearing rumpled pajamas.

"What are y'all doing here?" George asked.

"Who are you?" demanded Catherine. "Are you George Eads?"

"_Catherine?"_ said a shocked George in response. "Catherine Willows?"

George's eyes moved to each CSI, finally coming to rest on his look-a-like, Nick Stokes. His eyes at this time matched the expression of an astonished...well, his expression didn't really match anyone's.

"Holy crap," George and Nick said at the same time. Then, again in unison, "Well, you're a handsome one."

Just then, Greg turned the corner, after studying a fake computer and trying to turn it on, before realizing it was a prop. He stared as well, his eyes landing on Sara. "Sara? Catherine?" He eyed Catherine with love, as well as each of the CSI's in turn. "Is it really you guys?"

Sara nodded for them all, speechless, and Greg rushed to hug each and every one of them. "Man," he said enthusiastically. "I missed you guys so much. We're famous! We're all rich and we work in movies and TV and Catherine, you were on a Lifetime movie, it was really good, and--"

"Slow down, Greg," said Grissom. Greg merely gave him another hug. "Do you know what's happening?"

"No clue," said Greg happily.

"Hey," interrupted George. "Where's Eric?"

The room went silent.

"He was at my apartment last time I saw him," answered Sara finally. She shrugged.

George scratched his head in frustration. "We're all here," he said. "So where's Eric? Is he stuck in your...world...dimension...thing?"

Again, collective shrugs.

"I think we all need to talk," said Grissom.

Three hours later, after outlining what had happened to each and every one of them, they came to an agreement: no one knew what the hell was happening. Greg and Eric seemed to have switched after a bump on the head, but the rest of the CSI team had not been recently injured, so there had to be another reason for the sudden appearance.

They were at Eric's house, sitting around at a nice picnic table, sipping lemonades that the housemaid, Rosita, had brought them. She was not very fluent in English, so they didn't have to explain anything to her.

"So...we're famous, eh?" asked Sara, a sly glint in her eye.

"Yeah, very. Fan websites off the wazoo. Fanfiction, fan art, fan clubs, trivia, message boards, chat...everything."

"Eric has a computer, right?"

George grinned. "Why, yes, he does."

"I'm gonna go check some stuff out," said Sara, getting up.

"Wait for me," said George.

"Me too," Warrick said.

"And me," said Nick.

The rest of the team was quick to follow, even Grissom.

George logged on immediately, appreciating DSL, and went to the first fan fiction site he could think of.

"What's fan fiction?" asked Grissom.

"It's...hard to explain. It's basically that you take a show, movie, game, book, whatever, and write an continuation of it, using the characters and maybe adding a few more."

Everyone nodded, not totally sure of the concept, except Sara, who was a secret X-Files fanfic reader.

George opened a random fic, and they read it together, him scrolling down at the appropriate times.

_Grissom approached the pool at a run, ripping off his clothes as he ran, before barreling into the pool. "I'll save you Sara!" he cried, naked and swimming towards her._

_Sara was passed out, barely alive, and as Grissom swam them back to shore, she began to come to. "Oh, Grissom, Gil Grissom," she gasped. "You saved my life. How can I ever repay you?"_

_Three hours later_

_Grissom hungrily ripped off her tight jeans, seeing her cute pink underwear. He was hungry for her, hungrier than he'd ever been, his hunger surpassed his basic thoughts and, kissing her down her belly, he laid her gently on the couch, where he began to--_

"Argh, stop!" yelled Sara, her face purple. "Turn it off!"

Grissom was just as embarrassed looking, his face a dark shade of red. He avoided eye contact with Sara.

Warrick, Nick, George, Greg and Brass were all staring openly at Grissom, then back at Sara, then back at Grissom, their mouths hanging open. Catherine snapped Nick's mouth shut, and the rest of the men followed suit.

"Blam," commented Nick quietly, so only Warrick and Greg could hear him.

Greg giggled nervously. "Forget porn," he said. "This is awesome. Freaky, disturbing and creepy, but pretty cool. Had there been other characters...awesome."

"Wanna read another?" offered George.

"No!" shouted Sara and Grissom at the same time. They didn't even glance at each other.

"They aren't all like this," said George. "There are angsty ones, romance, humor, just plain silly, crossovers, friendships... all kinds. Let me show you the opposite end of the spectrum, eh?"

He clicked a link with the title, _Better Days_.

_The sunlight glared though his window, offering him a better look at what he was doing to himself. He sobbed quietly as he cut through the skin with a razor, getting deeper as he gathered courage and purpose. His tears dripped off his nose to blend with his blood, but he didn't mind too much; after all, the pain was about to end. Then he'd be happy, or numb, forever._

"Who's it about?" asked Catherine, confused. "One of us?"

"Probably," responded George. "It'll tell us at the end, they always do. Keep your eyes peeled for hints.

_The cellphone rang, a sound that jolted Grissom out of a stupor. He grabbed it and said, "Grissom."_

_He heard nothing but a quiet crying on the other end. "Gris..." a voice finally said._

_"Nicky?"_

_"Gris...it's Greg...he--he--it was--"_

_Grissom's stomach was sinking as Nick stuttered over the right words._

_"Greg killed himself," said Nick at last. He hung up before Grissom could ask any questions. _

_The funeral was not a tie-wearing affair--Greg wouldn't have wanted that. They'd buried him in an oak coffin, with Greg's favorite Hawaiian shirt on, his hair spiky even in death. Everyone cried, even the minister seemed teary at the overwhelming emotion displayed by the mourners. The attendance was over 500, Greg's family and so many friends, both current and distant. _

_Sara was the last to see his body. She walked up, planted a kiss on her finger, transferred it to Greg's cheek, and whispered, "I've always loved you. I should have said yes." Then she, too, was gone, to attempt to pick up the shattered pieces of her heart at the Las Vegas Crime Lab._

_Grissom stared as the coffin was lowered into the earth. "You were like the son I've never had," he said, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I'll miss you, Greg. Why did you do this?" From somewhere a breeze sprung up, stroking his bearded cheek, and he smiled, knowing Greg must be happier now. _

_Fin_

There was a total silence after everyone finished, interrupted with a soft sob from Catherine as she read the last sentence. She wiped at her eyes furiously, searching her pockets for a tissue.

"That was so sad," said Warrick at last. He seemed at a loss for any more words, he just shook his head, staring at the computer screen.

George looked at the whole team, most of whom were teary eyed, with the exception of a few, who cried openly. Sara and Catherine were bawling, Greg was dabbing his eyes with a sleeve, and Nick sniffled loudly.

At once, Sara and Catherine latched on to Greg, who looked suddenly bewildered. "Don't you ever die!" demanded Catherine. "If you die, I'll kill you."

"And I'll kill you after Cath gets done with you," added Sara.

"Ok," agreed Greg tearfully.

"Wanna read another one?" asked George, the only dry-eye in the house.

Sara sniffed. "Ok, but don't make it a sad one... or a smut."

"Ok...lemme see..." George scrolled down to a promising looking preview. He opened the link.

_Greg was wandering down the corridor, papers in hand, when suddenly he heard a loud grunt from Grissom's office. This in itself was unusual, but the weirdest thing was that the grunt was feminine._

_"It's too big! It's too big! It won't come out!" said a voice that Greg recognized as Catherine._

Catherine gasped. "What a slut!" she exclaimed, then realized she was talking about herself. "Is this another sex story?"

"Nope," answered George. "Read on."

_"Pull it out...put something on it...butter or something," said Grissom, also straining._

_Greg dropped the folders he'd been carrying. He spotted Nick walking down the hall and motioned him over. _

_"What?" demanded Nick._

_"Shh! Listen!"_

_"Don't you think it's impolite to--"_

_"Oh! Oh! It's still in there! Can't you push it down somehow?"_

_Nick's face turned pale. Greg nodded encouragingly, a disgusted look on his face._

_"Should we call Sara in here? She might know how to get it out," recommended Catherine._

_"No, she'd be jealous," replied Grissom. "We'll figure this out somehow."_

_"You should have gotten some practice, at least," snapped Catherine._

_"I didn't know we'd be doing this today! I've never done this before..."_

_Nick and Greg shook their heads in despair. "Oh, Grissom," said Greg sympathetically._

_"What about by yourself?" she asked._

_"Nope."_

_"Well, I guess the instructions weren't very clear," commended Catherine. "Oh, it's hot!"_

_"Yeah, well, it's been in there for a while."_

_Nick gagged._

"This is so a sex story!" said Sara, interrupting them. They were all at roughly the same place on the page.

"No, it's not," argued George. "I've read this one before."

"Then what is it?" demanded Sara.

"Humor."

"Hey!" said Grissom. "It isn't funny."

Catherine's face was as red as Sara's had been.

_Greg and Nick listened to their conversation, which got worse and dirtier, until, "Why don't we have Greg in here? He'll help us out."_

_Nick's eyes went as big as saucers. Greg shrunk away from the door._

_"He isn't exactly experienced in this area," argued Grissom. "I've heard him talk the talk, but I don't think he can walk the walk, if you know what I mean."_

_"Don't be silly. I'll page him." There were a few beeps, while Greg tried to get some distance from the door so they wouldn't hear his cell going off so near. _

_He was halfway to the lab when his phone rang, to the tune of MMBop. "Who changed my ringtone?" he demanded to himself, unclipping the belt. "Sex--er, Sanders," he said._

_"Greg, could you come in here?" asked Catherine, her voice booking no argument. _

_"Ok, where are you?" asked Greg weakly._

_Nick was still listening as he saw Greg trudge wearily into Grissom's office, a horrified expression on his face. The Texan offered him a sympathetic thumbs-up._

_Greg knocked on the door._

_"Come in," said Catherine._

_Greg was greeted by the feel of a very warm room, a sweaty Catherine and Grissom, who both had their clothes slightly undone. "Yeah?" he asked nervously. They weren't in the position he'd expected, as they were standing near each other._

_"We need help, Greg," said Catherine. "I've got a bun in the oven--"_

_Greg gasped, shoulders sagging in shock._

_"No, not a baby, Greg. It's a real bun, in this EZ-Bake oven we plugged in here. Problem is, it got so big, we can't get it out. We were wondering if you had any cooking tips we could use so we wouldn't squish it. It's for Sara's birthday."_

_The relief Greg felt was so immense that he nearly floated on air. "Yeah, just let it cool a few minutes, it should pop right back out," he said, then walked out._

_Nick was laughing quietly, trying desperately not to giggle aloud. As Greg departed, Nick heard Catherine say, "Good thinking, Gil. It's great we knew Sanders was out there and could use this easy of an excuse. An EZ-Bake oven?"_

_"That was a stroke of genius on your part," agreed Grissom. "I loved the bun in the oven line. Did you see how pale he went?"_

_"Yeah, wait until he finds out for real."_

_"Twins," said Grissom dreamily. "In five months, we get a perfect set of twins."_

_Nick covered his mouth and went in search of Greg._

The entire group was laughing out loud, all finishing the story around the same time.

"So far," said Brass, "Sara and Grissom are doing it, Greg's dead and Sara was in love with him, and Grissom and Catherine are doing it, and have a set of twins on the way." It was a pretty accurate recap.

"These aren't...future happenings, right? Just pure works of fiction?" Grissom asked nervously.

"Yes," confirmed George, with Sara nodding to back him up. "These are purely works of fans' minds, fiction imagined by writers of every kind."

"So are we," muttered Grissom. "Works of fiction, I mean."

"Can we read another one?" asked Nick. "These are really entertaining."

George opened the main menu and read through a few titles. "Let's see...we have _Not You, Butterflies, Quantum Foam makes me Roam, _and _Hi, I'm Greg._ Which one?"

"_Quantum Foam_ sounds stupid, _Hi, I'm Greg _is probably another one about Greg dying, look at the summary: 'In which Greg Sanders dies and everyone is sad.' Let's try _Butterflies_ or _Not You,"_ said Warrick.

"_Not You_'s a slash. How about...not," said Sara. She read the summary, "'Nick and Greg are in love, but no one knows...how can they break it to their friends...and each other?' Greg and Nick? Never would have thought."

"Ewwww!" yelled both Greg and Nick at the same time. They stepped as far apart as they could go while staying in the room. Everyone else made disgusted faces and glanced nervously over their shoulders at the two.

"Ok, then it's _Butterflies,_" concluded George, clicking the link.

"Hey," said Brass, furrowing his brow. "Anyone hear that? Footsteps."

"Probably Rosita."

"She's in the other room," said Grissom, listening as well.

They heard a voice call from one of the rooms in the central portion of the house, "Hey, guys? Grissom? Sara? Catherine? Anyone?"

"That sounds just like you," said Catherine, speaking to Greg. "I think it's Eric."


End file.
